


a dealing in lies

by malevon



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, v minor and vague violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 16:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13252059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevon/pseuds/malevon
Summary: in which crowe’s past catches up to him





	a dealing in lies

The Chief never had any sort of tell to when she was near, Kharis had learned from his time spent in the guild. She seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once; to some, it was a rumor that she had eyes everywhere, but to Kharis, this was a well-known fact.

He’d known she had eyes everywhere, he just didn’t know how far her eyes saw.

Kharis knew the instant something was wrong. While the Chief didn’t have a tell to when she was near, the people she surrounded herself with did. The instant that the smell of Taylvish ferment hit his nose over the oily smell of factory machinations, Kharis was launched into the scene of the Chief’s office, the vicious scent hitting his young senses like a ton of bricks. He clapped a hand over Maryn’s mouth without warning, shoving them both against the nearest wall. She made a small noise of protest, but knew better than to push him away instantly, feeling the growing chill on his palm as his nerves grew. She looked to him quizzically, and Kharis raised a single finger to his lips as he lowered his other hand from her face. He couldn’t explain this now.

Slowly, he unsheathed his dagger, pointing Maryn down the pathway they were walking on previously, towards the docks. She turned, looked, and then turned back around to look at him with an expression that just said, “what the fuck is going on”. Kharis waved her off. “Don’t wait up for me,” he whispered, softly but forcefully. He didn’t want her involved in this. Knowing Maryn, she’d likely find a way to be involved in this, but just this once, he prayed that she would listen to him. She’d never been great at listening to him.

Maryn narrowed her eyes at him, and she signed the word “ship”, punctuated by a shrug in the form of a question. Kharis nodded curtly—yes, if this encounter went well, then he would meet her back at the ship. She nodded in compliance and turned to leave. Kharis’ gaze lingered on her for a moment, and he wondered grimly if the encounter with his guild would allow for him to ever see her again.

Shaking his head, Kharis turned in the opposite direction, taking casual but calculated steps back the way they came. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and Maryn before the Chief found him. The scent of alcohol no longer permeated in the air, but the taste was still stuck on his tongue and threatened to choke him. He thought about why he didn’t simply run, and he thought about what she could possibly want from him. No, if he ran, then they’d simply follow. She’d found him here, she could find him again.

What could she want? Well, Kharis couldn’t kid himself to think he didn’t know the answer to that.

He flipped his dagger over and over in his palm, the weight of it somewhat of a comfort. He could just fight her, try to kill her. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind before. Usually, to kill something that threatened you, you cut off its head, but Kharis couldn’t see any other outcome besides two new, more ferocious heads taking its place. He kept walking, and he sheathed his dagger.

He’d never been good at simply talking things out. He had had so many things he wanted to talk to Maryn about.

She found him before he found her. Her pale and porcelain skin reflected the bright moonlight, and Kharis stepped back just a hair when she rounded the corner and faced him. Her face was crooked in an uneven smile that looked entirely too forced to be genuine. Kharis tensed. “You’re slightly overdue, aren’t you, Mr. Crowe?” crooned the Chief in her elegant Taylvish that had captured his heart the first time they met. He remembered thinking that the way she spoke the language was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard, and he remembered Aywen saying that it was because of her heritage, and he remembered not knowing what that meant. How long had he been away?

“Perhaps a little,” Kharis replied in the only language she spoke, smiling. He knew he had to keep this strictly business, and he knew he had to keep his anxiety under wraps. When he thought about it, though, Kharis found he wasn’t scared at all. Not anymore. “I’m working on the job. What do you need from me?”

God, he had always been such a bad liar. He mentally kicked himself.

The Chief sighed, closing her eyes and stepping closer to him. Kharis saw that there were new wrinkles etched into her scarred face, as well as new gray hairs that interrupted her solid black sheen. “Apparently I’m here to educate you in the business of lies. As you know, I deal in lies, Mr. Crowe, and I must say, I get so sick of them during my work that I like to avoid them during a recreational conversation with one of my favorite employees.” As she spoke, she brought a hand up to Kharis’ shoulder, and he shivered violently. He could kill her right now if his limbs weren’t frozen.

“Fine then,” Kharis said resolutely. “What do you need from me?” he asked again, this time the chipper tone dropped from his voice. When the Chief responded, she had not lost hers.

“I aim to collect.”

Kharis took in a breath. The implications of that made him swallow. “Surely one lost source of profit—”

Her change in demeanor was so sudden that Kharis physically jumped backwards. She bared her teeth to him, her eyes wild. “It is not _about_ the money anymore, Crowe!” she roared, trenches dug between her brows. She never snapped. In the years he had spent with her around, between fists and words and disputes and arguments, Kharis had never once seen her snap, not at him and not at anyone else. “That _fucking man_ —”

She cut off her words, breathing heavily down Kharis’ neck. Her breath evened out after a moment, and she backed up. Kharis greedily took in air now that she was not occupying his. “Do you know what the most effective form of communication is, Mr. Crowe?”

He paused. “Word of mouth.”

“Precisely. And when someone’s request for our guild to find and return his stolen ship as well as to find and kill the thief who took it bears no fruit for, say, two years, how do you think that reflects on my coffers?”

Kharis said nothing.

He was at a loss. Everything she said was true, but he could offer her nothing. Not like this.

“What do you want from me?” he asked a third time, his voice quiet and surrendered.

And the Chief answered him in the same way she had earlier: “I aim to collect.”

All at once, the powerful smell of alcohol hit Kharis again, so strong that it made him nauseous. He whipped around, and from the shadows of the mechanical jungle that surrounded them emerged the source of the smell: two large men, bracing Maryn’s arms behind her back as they dragged her forward. His heart fell, and he could feel the ice in his limbs again.

He kept his eyes on Maryn as he carefully considered his words. “What do you want me to do?”

At the sound of his voice, Maryn’s head tilted upwards, and Kharis could see the short gash on one of her temples that made him itch to dart out at the nearest throat. “Kharis?” she said quietly, her voice slurred. “What’s happening?”

He looked at her sympathetically. He couldn’t explain this to her now. Kharis’ gaze went to the guards, and he noticed that there were the beginnings of bruises on one of their jaws, while the other had an eye swollen shut. He sighed, and turned to the Chief for her response.

“You’re an asset, Mr. Crowe. I thought we had struck a deal when I allowed your brother to walk free, but apparently that was not enough of an incentive. I considered killing him, too, when you failed to return, you know.” The thought made Kharis’ head spin. This was too much. “You are an asset I’m sure you know that I value immensely. We can fix this whole thing together, if you come back with us. With me.”

“ _Kharis?_ ” Maryn called again, and his eyes went back to her. It occurred to him that she could not understand any of the language, but even if she did, Kharis had a few hunches as to what she might say.

“If I go back, do you let her go?” Kharis asked, not even stopping to consider the repercussions of the question. He bit his lip, and the Chief nodded, her pale eyes lighting in the victory.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes, the thief goes.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Come now,” she purred, “you’re smart enough to imagine the alternative, I’m sure.”

Kharis looked between the Chief, Maryn, and the two men that had her restrained, and he felt his gut twist. They had found him. He could have finished this job months, years ago, and as his gaze went back to Maryn’s eyes, droopy but looking at him full of desperate confusion, he shuddered and wondered where he went wrong.

He held up his hands in surrender.

“I’ll go with you,” he said with finality. “Just—”

And before he could finish, all at once there was an explosion of pain on the back of his head, and Kharis fell away.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written from scratch twice and im actually quite fond of it? that’s all


End file.
